Two of a Kind
by cheride
Summary: An evening of cards at Gulls Way as Mark meets some of Milt's old friends. Based on characters introduced in the episode Poker Night.


_Two of a Kind- cheride_

_Rating: G_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their_ _creators._

_**A/N:** Late in the third and final season of the series, there was an episode entitled "Poker Night". The premise was simple: Milt has some friends over for their regular card game, and they end up taken hostage for the evening. For me, though, the best part was a scene where Mark comes in to chat with the poker buddies before he goes out for the evening. They are all comfortable with him, and he with them: a simple declaration of how ingrained he has become in Hardcastle's life. One day I just got to wondering what it would've been like the first time he met them..._

* * *

"Honestly," Mark McCormick complained, "I don't know if it's worse when we're on a case or when we're not. On the one hand, I'm a sitting duck for any loon with a score to settle, but on the other I'm bored out of my mind."

Los Angeles Superior Court Justice, retired, Milton C. Hardcastle chuckled at the young ex-convict. "That's the problem, with you, kid; you always see the glass half empty. You never see the bright side."

"Judge, what's the bright side of getting shot at?" McCormick demanded.

"They usually miss," the judge replied blandly.

The young man just shook his head and turned his attention back to the flowerbed he was tending. "Okay, but even you can't come up with a bright side to all this weeding."

"Sure I can, kid: it's better than being shot at."

McCormick laughed as he continued his chore. "Hard to argue with that," he conceded. After a moment, he glanced back at the older man. "You wanna see a movie tonight? Maybe grab a pizza?"

"Can't tonight, kiddo. It's my turn to host the poker game."

"Oh. Okay." McCormick bowed his head quickly back to the weeding, hoping the judge hadn't seen his disappointment. After a moment, he spoke without looking up. "I could go by myself," he suggested quietly.

Hardcastle looked back over at the young man thoughtfully. It had barely been two months since he had arranged for McCormick to be paroled into his custody, and things were really going along more smoothly than he had ever anticipated. But even so, he tended to feel better with the kid close at hand.

When the judge didn't speak for several long moments, McCormick had his answer. "Well, okay then. I'll just hang out in the gatehouse."

"You should join us," Hardcastle replied instinctively. He really didn't want the kid to feel like a prisoner.

"No thanks, Hardcase."

"I'm serious, McCormick," the jurist growled. "It'll be fun."

Still raking his garden fork through the dirt, McCormick grinned slightly. Sometimes this old donkey could be a real corker. "No offense, Judge, but the last time I played cards with you, one of your good ol' poker buddies had me thrown in jail."

"That was just a misunderstanding, and you know it. And besides, Judge Galt isn't even gonna be here. This group won't be anything like that."

"Oh? Inviting people from my side of the bars now?"

"Actually, kiddo," the jurist continued slowly, ignoring the latest comment, "I really do think you'd have a good time with these people."

The young man was interested, despite his best intentions. "Really? Who's coming? Anyone I know?"

"Well, Frank Harper—you know him, of course. I don't think you've met the others, but you'd like 'em."

"I don't want to be in the way," McCormick said softly.

Typically reserved and cautious with his emotions, Hardcastle was quickly realizing that this brash young man in his care knew just how to pierce through his shell. He met the blue eyes that looked back hesitantly, and answered gently, "You belong here now, kiddo; you're not in the way. Besides, we've been saying we needed a fifth since Leonard Johnson retired to Florida." He paused, then added with a grin, "And you know how we legal types love to take money from you criminal types."

Laughing, McCormick resumed his half-hearted gardening. "In your dreams, Hardcase. You just have to promise you won't put me back inside after I take you and your friends to the cleaners."

Still grinning, Hardcastle picked up his newspaper. "No promises, kiddo."

* * *

As he made his way across the lawn from the gatehouse, McCormick was beginning to wish he'd turned down the judge's invitation. God only knew what he was getting himself into, and a night of television and junk food would've been much safer. 

Normally, the young man would have no qualms about joining in any social situation. Not that he was one of those fortunate few who could blend in to any type of gathering, though he did often try. No, his charm lay more in the fact that he didn't really care about blending in; he could have a good time regardless of what others thought. But as the day had worn on, he had become slightly obsessed with the realization that he _did_ care what _one_ person thought, and Hardcastle undoubtedly cared what his friends thought. Which meant he was in for a very long evening of trying to be on his best behavior, and that really didn't sound like a great way to spend a Friday night.

He chuckled to himself as he rounded the corner. Should probably have his head examined, worrying about trying to impress a bunch of stuffy old judges.

"What's so funny, Mark?"

Startled, McCormick looked up to see Lieutenant Frank Harper paused on the front porch step. _Oh, yeah_, Mark thought. _Stuffy old judges and **cops**._ He shook his head. "Nothing, Frank. Just wondering what I might've gotten myself into here."

"Tonight? Or in general?"

"Tonight," the ex-con replied firmly. "There's just no answer for 'in general'."

"You'll be fine," the lieutenant grinned. "In both cases. But come on; I'll introduce you to the others."

* * *

"This is Charlie Masaryk," Harper introduced. 

McCormick extended his hand. "One of the best damn bailiffs in the history of superior court," the young man quoted. "If memory serves."

The older man laughed as he shook McCormick's hand. "Milt talks too much. But I'm glad we finally get to meet, Mr. McCormick. He hasn't said nearly enough about you."

"Trust me, that's probably just as well. And please, just call me Mark. People usually only call me Mr. McCormick when I'm in trouble."

"You mean when you're in _court_," Hardcastle interjected as he stepped into the room carrying a bowl of ice and a tray precariously stacked with glasses.

"Same difference, Hardcase," McCormick answered as he moved quickly to take the tray from the judge's hand. He placed it carefully on the sideboard that would be holding the evening's bounty. "I'll get the other snacks," he offered, starting back out of the den.

As the judge began arranging the glasses in a more practical manner, Harper slid close to his side. "He's a little nervous," he said quietly, jerking his head slightly to indicate the departed ex-con.

"He'll be all right," Hardcastle answered, equally quiet. He grinned suddenly. "You should be more worried about us; he's probably gonna kick our butts."

* * *

By the time McCormick had arranged the small sandwiches on a platter and returned to the den, the last guest had arrived. He was surprised to see the curly brown hair on top of the slender body that was standing at the buffet, pouring a drink. He put the sandwich tray in place, and smiled. "The judge didn't tell me he knew any beautiful judicial princesses. And he sure didn't tell me they played cards and drank hard liquor. I've been hanging out on the wrong side of the law." The words were out of his mouth before he even had time to think about them, and he waited for the explosion. _Guess it's TV in the gatehouse after all,_ he thought sadly. 

But the woman turned with a smile, hoping she wasn't blushing. In her middle fifties, she still wasn't too old to enjoy a little flirting. "You must be Mark McCormick," she said as she extended her hand. "I'm Mattie Groves." She met his twinkling eyes. "And it's never too late to come over to my side."

"That's _Judge_ Groves to you, hotshot," a voice growled from across the room.

Relieved, McCormick laughed lightly as he took the offered hand. "Your Honor," he said in his most proper voice. Then he bowed ever so slightly, and raised her hand to his lips. "I assure you, the honor is all mine." This time, his voice had lost much of its propriety. He figured Hardcase might have his ass later for that little stunt, but he also figured it was worth it, just to prove that the old buzzard wasn't in control of everything.

"McCormick..." the growl was definitely more menacing this time around.

"Oh, Milt, lighten up," Mattie scolded. "Let the cute young man say nice things to the old lady."

It was McCormick's turn to blush. "Um, well, thanks, Judge Groves- - "

"Mattie."

"Um, yeah, Mattie. But I better, uh, get the chips." He hurried quickly from the room.

Mattie laughed as she watched the young man's speedy exit. She winked over at Hardcastle, who just grinned. He knew these people would like the kid.

* * *

Hardcastle threw his cards down in disgust as he watched another pile of chips being raked to the other side of the table. 

"I keep tellin' you not to hold the ace kicker, Judge. You just won't listen."

"He's got you there, Milt," Harper grinned. "I've heard him tell you that at least twenty times already."

The judge glared at the lieutenant. "I don't see any of you having any better luck," he snapped, looking around the table at the dwindling stacks of chips. Only McCormick's was growing, and the only thing bigger was the grin splitting the young man's face. "It's time for a break," he declared.

Sensing it was time to make himself scarce, Mark pushed back from the table quickly. "I'll re-fill the sandwiches, Judge." He grabbed the now empty platter and disappeared from the room.

"You didn't expect him to lose on purpose did you, Milt?" Mattie chided.

"Yes!"

The others laughed at the sincere indignation of their host, and he, in turn, just continued to glare.

After a moment, Mattie rose from her seat. "Come on, Charlie," she said, tugging at the bailiff's arm. "I'll go help Mark and you can go have your cigarette."

"I've told you a million times you don't have to go outside," Hardcastle objected as his friend rose from the table.

"I know that," Charlie answered. "But it gives me a good excuse to see your amazing view." He took Mattie's arm. "Come, my dear."

As the others left the den, Hardcastle rose from his own chair, stretching. He could feel Harper watching him. "What?" he demanded good-naturedly.

"Nobody's judging him, Milt. Or you."

"Oh, I know that," the jurist replied, pulling a hand across his mouth. He looked at the detective closely. "But he's doing okay, isn't he?"

Harper smiled at the pride Hardcastle couldn't quite keep hidden. "He's doing great."

* * *

"Here, Mark, let me do that," Mattie said, as she playfully pushed the younger man away from the counter. 

"Yeah, leave her to the woman's work," Charlie joked, and ignored the judicial tongue that poked in his direction. "Why don't you walk outside with me for a minute?"

"Okay," McCormick said agreeably. He recognized a set-up when he heard one, but he thought things were basically going okay tonight. Besides, they would either be okay or they wouldn't...having a private chat with Charlie probably wasn't going to make a difference.

The men walked out into the cool night air, Mark following Charlie toward the bluff overlooking the ocean.

"It's so beautiful out here, though you can't really see much this time of night," the older man observed as they stood, staring at the darkness.

"You can see the stars," the ex-con replied softly. "That's worth more than you might know."

The bailiff smiled slightly as he lit his cigarette. "Milt doesn't really approve of the smoking," he commented.

"Tell me about it," McCormick said ruefully, remembering that had been one of the first of many laws Hardcastle had laid down.

"Did you want one?" Masaryk asked, offering the pack.

His hand raised instinctively, then dropped almost immediately. "Nah. Quitting really was a good idea." He grinned. "Just don't tell _him_ I said so."

"It'll be our secret," Charlie agreed.

They enjoyed a moment of companionable silence, but McCormick knew what was on the other man's mind. Finally, he spoke. "I guess Hardcastle never invited any of his other rehabilitation projects to the card game, huh?"

Charlie laughed. "One of the few things I have heard about you, Mark, is that you are very direct. It's no wonder you can get along with Milt so well."

"We do seem to have that in common," McCormick admitted.

For a moment, Masaryk was silent, and McCormick could feel the eyes examining him even in the darkness. Finally, the bailiff said thoughtfully, "He seems happier lately; retirement must agree with him."

"This is how he is when he's _happy_?" McCormick blurted.

Again Masaryk laughed. "Just don't tell _him_ I said so." He leaned down and crushed out his cigarette, taking care to smother any last remnant of spark. "Come on, Mark; let's get back inside."

Again McCormick was content to let the older man take the lead as he followed him back toward the house. He wasn't sure what kind of a test had just been put forth, but he was fairly sure he had passed, and that was good enough for him.

* * *

"Come on!" Hardcastle shouted. "Somebody call him!" 

McCormick took a long drink of the beer in front of him and tried not to laugh. "Since you're out of money," he finally managed to say, "I don't know if anyone is all that keen on taking gambling advice from you, Judge."

"Yeah," Harper agreed. "What he said." He examined his cards again, then threw them down. "Sorry, Milt. Not me."

"But it's the last hand," the judge complained. "I don't want him to win it."

McCormick leaned his curly head closer to Mattie. "And he says _I_ whine," he muttered in a stage whisper.

Charlie also took one last look at his cards, then folded. "I don't wanna go home completely broke."

"Looks like it's you and me, handsome," Mattie said with a smile. She glanced at her cards again. Three jacks weren't much up against the kind of luck this kid had had tonight, but she would try for Milt's sake. She threw in a pile of chips. "I'll raise you fifty."

McCormick examined her closely. He didn't need to look at his cards; the ace high flush hadn't disappeared since the last time he looked. He needed to see her eyes. Some people would just never understand that the eyes were always the key. And not just to poker.

Right now, Mattie's eyes said she was bluffing. He looked more closely. No, that wasn't exactly right. She wasn't bluffing, but she didn't expect to win. So, a good hand, but probably not good enough. Interesting.

He glanced over at Hardcastle, whose eyes also had a lot to say. Right now, of course, the judge was hoping Mattie would win. The old donkey really didn't like it when his pet convict got the last word in anything. Not because of any true malice, just some insane sense of competition that always kept life interesting. But deeper than that, there seemed to be a sense of satisfaction, and maybe just a hint of pride. What was a hand of cards against all that?

He took a last look at his cards, pretending to study them carefully. Finally, he tossed them aside. Indicating his rather sizeable stack of chips, he said, "I didn't get all this by playing a fool's hand. Take it."

Hardcastle clapped his hands together joyously and leapt from his seat. "Good job, Mattie!"

Mattie grinned as she pulled the pot toward her. "Good game, Mark."

He returned the grin as he rose and stretched. "You too, Your Honor. Maybe you could give Miltie some pointers." He smiled sweetly at Hardcastle.

"Okay, guys," Mattie said with a small laugh. "Let's help Milt clean this place up, then we'll get out of here."

"Don't worry about it, Mattie. Markie can clean up later." He smiled sweetly at McCormick.

* * *

Hardcastle looked around the den. When the kid put his mind to it, he could certainly get things done efficiently. He could hear McCormick clanking around in the kitchen, and figured it wouldn't be long until the last glass was put away. Then he could count on the young man to come dragging back in here, acting all put upon, even though he was the one who managed to clear a couple of hundred dollars tonight. 

The judge shook his head, running a hand through his white hair. Except for the fact that McCormick had been the big winner, tonight had gone even better than he had hoped. His young charge had managed to control the streak of defiance and bitterness that still reared its head from time to time, leaving in its place only a fun-loving, wisecracking smooth talker. People always loved that Mark McCormick, and tonight had been no exception. He smiled slightly, thinking that he himself enjoyed the company of that particular young man, and wondered exactly what that realization implied.

Apparently his friends were comfortable welcoming a newcomer into their fold; Charlie had been very clear in stating that they _both_ needed to be punctual arriving at his home for the next poker game. McCormick had laughed at the time, but he knew the young man had been pleased.

In truth, he had been pleased, too. Not that he had intentionally put the kid on display, seeking approval from his friends. But he couldn't deny that he was glad the approval had been granted.

He heard the kitchen door close and braced himself for the inevitable whining.

The curly head poked itself around the corner, but didn't enter the room. Instead, the lanky form leaned casually against the doorframe, the face still wearing the same dopey grin that had been in place most of the evening. "Order has been restored, your judgeship."

"So you comin' in, or what?" Hardcastle growled.

"Nope; gonna hit the sack."

"Really?" Even though it was very late, the judge was still surprised. "Not even gonna hang around long enough to gloat over your victory?"

"Plenty of time for that," McCormick promised with a laugh.

"So what's on your mind?"

"Nothin'. Just stopped in to say goodnight." He pushed himself off the door and turned away from the den.

"Kiddo?"

McCormick stopped. He would never understand how the judge could layer that small dose of compassion into his typical gruff tone, but it never failed to freeze him in his tracks. He turned back to face Hardcastle, a small smile on his face. "Actually, Judge, I just wanted to say I had a good time tonight." Almost shyly, he gazed into the older eyes across the room. "And...I wanted to say thanks."

Without waiting for a response, McCormick turned and vanished from the house.

Hardcastle stared at the now empty doorway. McCormick hadn't even given him a chance to say that he'd had fun, too. He certainly hadn't had a chance to say how grateful he was that McCormick had turned out to be someone who could safely be invited into his small circle of friends. He smiled to himself.

"No, kiddo," he said softly. "Thank _you_."


End file.
